Indiana Jones and the Terra Incognita
by Naruana
Summary: After nearly dying in the Gobi Desert, Indy joins an expedition to an island in the Pacific Ocean that time forgot...


1

Demons of the Eastern Wind

June 6th, 1936

Somewhere in the Gobi Desert…

Indy awoke in the dark to the sounds of screaming and gunfire, and for a brief moment he was 17, back in the war, crouched in the filth of the trenches beside his fellow soldiers, both those who were still alive and those who had been killed, mortars dropping, bullets whistling overhead, and then the horrible, hellish burning as the mustard gas settled over everything–

Then he untangled himself from the heavy musk-ox wool wrappings and felt the cool, coarse sand on his skin, and everything came rushing back. He was 37, the Great War long over, and he wasn't in the trenches, he was in the northern regions of the Gobi Desert, where–

_What the hell is going on?_

Indy sat dazed in the dark, surrounded by the chaotic cacophony. Silhouettes rushed back and forth on the walls of his octagonal ox-skin tent, projected by the last few dying embers of the previous night's fire. Panicked shouts and terrified screams filled his head– and then they were answered by something. An unearthly screeching, like nothing he had ever heard before.

Leaping to his feet, Indy stumbled around blindly, frantically trying to locate his Smith & Wesson revolver, or at least his knife. He fumbled through obscure objects and lumpy bundles: his leather jacket, worn and beaten– he quickly pulled it on, not stopping his search; his old brown fedora, ragged and misshapen– it was jammed onto his head; his hand brushed the kerosene lamp, knocking it over and spilling the cold liquid contents onto a long, scaly object–

His first thought was _Snake!_ and he recoiled– but it was only his bullwhip, now soaked with lamp oil. He gathered it up, stuffing it into his belt. Finally he located his revolver, gleaming dully in the dark. He grabbed it, checking to make sure none of the six chambers were empty, then tore aside the tent flap and went out into the night.

If the sounds were chaotic, then the scene was pure mayhem. Everything seemed to be moving, shapes running around and between the circle of tents, embers blowing in the wind like fiery snowflakes. Indy heard his Mongolian guides shouting orders, as well as pleading for help. Some were firing rifles, the reports echoing across the sands. But who- or what- were they firing at?

A camel nearly bowled Indy over as it tore through the camp, bellowing– and what were those dark shapes hanging off it? The beast disappeared into the night. Then one of the Mongolians rushed to his side, clutching a rifle. His clothes were torn, soaked with blood, and he was shouting incoherently.

Indy grabbed the man by the shoulders. "What is it? _What's going on?_"

The man's eyes suddenly locked onto something behind Indy, going even wider, and he raised the rifle. Indy spun around in time to see a large dark shape flying through the air, roaring. It collided with him like a speeding truck, forcing the air out of him, knocking him onto his back. He felt hot, rancid breath on his face as the _thing_ crouched over him, hissing through elongated jaws full of glistening, dagger-like teeth. Indy shoved his revolver into its underbelly and pulled the trigger six times, even as he heard the _crack_ of a rifle and the monster flew off him, hot blood gushing onto the sands.

Indy staggered to his feet, pain shooting through his left leg– a large gash ran down the side of his thigh. Ignoring the pain for the moment, he turned to the man who had saved his life, only to see him tackled by another of the creatures. It pounced like a cat, powerful tail whipping as it crouched over its prey. Even as he moved to help Indy heard the man's terrified screams end in a gargle as his throat was torn out. Then the creature turned towards Indy, apparently uninterested in devouring the man. It opened its bloody jaws wide and hissed at him. Indy turned to run–

Only to see three more dark shapes stalking towards him from all sides, moving stealthily on two powerful legs, clawed forearms raised. Indy turned about, searching for a way out, but the four had him surrounded. Indy realized he was the only one left, the only one still alive, and he was being herded into the middle of the camp, into the remains of the camp fire–

_Fire._

Indy grabbed a glowing log and swung it through the air. The oxygen brought forth new flames, transforming it into a torch, and he spun in a circle, waving it at any of the creatures that came too close, causing them to jump back with a frustrated yowl. The flames illuminated their brown, scaly hides and glinted in their large, reptilian eyes.

_What the hell are you?_

One of the bolder creatures leapt at him, and he swung the log, connecting with its head in a shower of sparks and flame. It roared and leapt back, pawing at its skull. But now the torch was destroyed, only a bit of burnt wood in his hand. He was all but weaponless, and the creatures seemed to know it as well. They began to close in.

_I'm going to be eaten alive._

The thought filled Indy with fear, a rare occurrence, and adrenaline flooded his veins. His will to survive increased ten-fold and he drew his only remaining tool. He swung the bullwhip through the air, cracking it–

Suddenly flame raced up and down the length of leather like liquid, igniting the coating of kerosene; the whip must have struck live embers. Indy cracked it again, driving the creatures back, sparks flying as he struck them. They hissed and screeched. They split into two groups, trying to flank him, and Indy saw the narrow opening between–

_Go. Now._

No further encouragement was needed. He tore through the narrow gap between his attackers, leaping over a swiping tail, landing hard on the sand, his injured leg burning, but he ignored it, sprinting flat out across the desert, into the darkness. As he headed for the canyon opening in the cliffs ahead, more than a hundred yards away, he heard the roaring creatures begin their pursuit.

Three Days Earlier…

The old man sat before Indy on a pile of furs, eyes closed. More furs, as well as exotic weavings and ritualistic fetishes, hung from the walls of the large tent, and fragrant smoke swirled through the air. Without opening his eyes the shaman nodded slowly at Indy, who sat cross-legged before him, a small fire burning between them. The sweet incense was almost overwhelming.

"I know why you are here, Westerner," the shaman said in near-perfect English, eyes still closed. "I know what it is you are looking for."

Indy didn't question the man. He had encountered plenty of strange things throughout his career; instead he leaned forward slightly. "Then you can help me find it?"

The shaman chuckled jovially, his tanned skin crinkling around his eyes. "It is not a question of ability, but ethics."

Indy frowned, a silent expression, but somehow the shaman sensed his confusion. "_Should_ I help you find it," he said explained.

Indy said nothing, simply waited. For a long moment the two simply sat in the tent, the shaman seemingly asleep. Indy's head began to grow foggy from the aromatic atmosphere.

Then the shaman abruptly opened his eyes; they were piercing blue (an unusual feature for a Mongolian) and could have belonged to a man decades younger than he appeared to be.

"Many generations ago, before either of us was yet in this world," he began, "a foreign people came to this land. They travelled on great sailing ships, carried by an eastern wind." He reached into the cloud of perfumed smoke with one hand and made a complicated gesture, swirling the fumes. Indy thought maybe he could see a long boat with great sails– or maybe it was just his imagination.

The shaman continued. "They were a mighty people, far greater than yours or mine." He drew both hands up through the smoke, creating plumes that almost looked like the spires of a majestic city.

"They searched for a new home, travelling far across this desert." Indy saw a nebulous horizon that seemed to stretch on for eternity.

_There's definitely something in this incense._

The shaman raised one hand, forming a fist. "Then," he said, "they found it." He brought the fist down in a smashing-motion, and a great ball of smoke barreled down into the fire, exploding into a sweeping wave.

"A piece of the heavens fell into the sands, turning them as hard as glass. They built a city in a crack in the glass."

_A meteor,_ Indy thought. _Must have formed a canyon._

The shaman nodded, as though he had heard the thought (Indy half-believed the man had). He continued the story.

"All their knowledge was held in this city." He made a quick series of complex gestures with both hands, almost like Tai Chi. The air filled with mysterious, arcane symbols. Indy thought that if he could just understand them, the universe would make sense.

The old man nodded. "This is what you seek."

For a moment Indy was speechless, caught off guard by the abrupt end to the story. Mentally shaking himself out of a haze, he cleared his throat.

"Can you lead me to this city?" he asked.

The shaman looked at him, with almost a hint of sadness. Then he reached into the front of his thick fur robe and withdrew a small scroll, wrapped around a jade cylinder, hanging from a piece of twine around his neck.

"This map will take you there," he said, holding out the scroll. "But there is more you should know." He reached into a bag of some sort of powder at his side and threw a handful into the fire. Immediately it erupted into a roaring crimson blaze, filling the tent with a light that seemed somehow dark. Indy drew back, the heat pounding against his skin.

"The city is guarded by demons, brought from the peoples' home land," the shaman said, and as he spoke, hideous figures appeared in the fire, leaping and tearing at each other with enormous claws. "They will devour the soul of any trespasser."

Then the shaman held out the scroll, reaching right through the fire, apparently untouched. Tentatively Indy took the scroll, and the fire instantly shrunk down to a mere smoldering pile of wood.

Indy examined the scroll. He could see lines of red drawn on the thin, fragile paper, which was also unburned. "Why are you giving me this?" he asked, almost jumping at the sound of his own voice. Why was he so spooked?

Once again the shaman laughed, and the sound seemed to break all tension. "I am giving it to you because it belongs to you." When Indy's expression only became more confused, the shaman continued. "To find this place is part of your path. Whether I believe it a good idea or not, makes no difference." He smiled.

Indy said nothing. He slowly rose to his feet and bowed in thanks. The shaman offered a nod in return.

"Men from the village will accompany you," the shaman said. "I am afraid none will return. It is in their path as well."

Indy drew aside the flap and stepped outside.

Hours After the Attack…

_Keep going._

Indy practically dragged himself up the slope, left leg numb and useless, the improvised tourniquet soaked through with blood. The crest of the slope was mere feet away. Just a bit further to go…

The loose rock and gravel began to shift beneath him, and Indy stared a slow slide back down into the canyon. He dug ragged fingers into the sharp shards, grinding his teeth at the pain. He braced himself with his one good leg, and eventually he came to a stop. He looked up. The top of the slope was now over three meters away.

A screeching howl echoed through the canyon behind him. Indy whipped his head around in time to see several dark shapes running through the narrow crevice, weaving between rock falls. Coming towards him.

With a surge of adrenaline Indy hauled himself up onto his good leg and forced himself up the slope, stumbling as the shale slid beneath him. He could hear the creatures' snorts and grunts just behind him. He knew the canyon's acoustics were to blame, but the creatures were still too close for comfort.

He crested the slope and had a brief glimpse of the desert stretched out before him, mountains on the far horizon, tinted pink and purple in the rising sun; then he was falling, tumbling and rolling down the hill, numb to every bump.

He eventually came to a stop, lying on his stomach. It felt wonderful to not be moving, no longer running, even though he knew he was far from safe. He simply wanted to drift asleep…

"Dr. Jones? Are you awake?"

The voice was male, Australian, and sounded amused. A booted foot rolled Indy over onto his back. A handsome, ruddy skinned man with dirty-blond hair stood over him, dressed in native fur clothing.

"Leighton," Indy said hoarsely. His throat felt like sand paper.

"You don't look too good, mate," Leighton said, feigning concern. Then he crouched down next to Indy. "Told you I'd win, didn't I?" he whispered with a smug smile.

Indy coughed, struggling to sit up. Leighton didn't help him, or stop him. He simply watched, still crouched, an amused smirk on his face. Indy could see a group of four Mongolian men behind him, all holding carbine rifles. More volunteers from the village, no doubt.

"So, Jonesy," Leighton said in a palling-around voice. "What'd you find in those ruins, eh?"

Indy squinted up at him. It hurt to squint; his whole face hurt, rubbed raw by wind and stone. Leighton raised an eyebrow, waiting.

"You don't want what I found," he rasped, glancing briefly back at the top of the slope. Leighton followed his gaze.

"Up there, eh?" He rose to his feet. "Ah, Jonesy, you never were much of a bluffer." He turned to the Mongolians and began to shout orders. The men started up the hill. Leighton glanced back at Indy with a grin, and followed after them.

"Leighton!" Indy tried to shout, but he succumbed to a coughing fit. Leighton looked back, halfway up the slope.

"Too late, Jonesy!" he called. "You lose!"

The four creatures seemed to materialize out of thin air, and with roars they pounced on the men. Not even one rifle was fired. Their screams were cut short as throats were torn. Leighton watched in horror, frozen in place, as the men were disemboweled and torn apart. Then one of the creatures looked up from its kill and into his eyes, and the spell was broken. Leighton turned to run.

He never had a chance.

As Leighton's shrill screams pierced the clear dawn air Indy scrambled away from the massacre, towards the now-abandoned camels that were issuing frightened bellows. He hauled himself up onto one of them, slumped between its humps, and smacked its side. The beast needed no encouragement; it took off across the desert, its fellows following.

As blissful oblivion slowly engulfed him, Indy looked back. The dead men were nothing more than smudges against the dull landscape. Indy thought he glimpsed a tail whipping out of sight over the top of the hill.


End file.
